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It just goes to show, thought Harry, even the architect of a revolution couldn’t control what made it into the annals of history. Robespierre’s ‘Ode to Jam Tarts’ had about as much artistic value, Harry figured, as hisHot Saucecreations.
It struck home, all of a sudden, that he should probably clear out his paperwork. What was that horrible phrase they used?Put his affairs in order– that was it. Great, he thought. Something to look forward to.
Nancy’s email was niggling the corners of Harry’s mind – and not just because it stung. There was something in it he’d missed. He opened it and read it again. He wondered why Nancy opted to work with Louis Casteneda. Louis washisfriend and had always been his friend. They’d been friends since before either of them was anybody. Nancy used to moan that Louis was like a spare wheel in their relationship, doing nothing, always in the way. Louis was always quiet around Nancy. Her forthrightness intimidated him. Harry gave up years ago trying to convince Nancy that Louis was a funny guy on his own territory.
And Louis hadn’t said a thing about casting Nancy. It was probably easier not to mention it, he supposed. Harry probably wouldn’t have mentioned it either, he thought, had the tables been turned.
Was it the thing about the character’s daughter being pregnant? Not too far a stretch – was she telling him something? Surely not. Even if it was true – and it hardly could be – Nancy made a hard and fast rule of never divulging Caroline’s secrets.
He read the letter through again, and this time he saw it. She said he’d walked out, as if their life together was just a movie that got a bit boring in the middle. That wasn’t Nancy’s line. Or rather, it was, but she shouldn’t have known it, not yet. It was a line from the book, from his movie,Someone at a Distance.
She’d got hold of his script. Or maybe she’d read the book. She knew what he was doing – or what he was trying to do. Had she meant to tell him that she knew what the movie was all about? Probably not. Probably, the phrase had struck her, as it had him, as painfully appropriate. Probably, it had lodged itself in her brain, ready for action, like a handy dagger.
It was time to play his last card. He would tell her about the cancer. He didn’t doubt her for a second. Nancy couldn’t possibly say no to him if she knew the truth. She’d feel so shitty over that last email of hers, she’d be on the first plane to Paris. He picked up his phone and tapped to reply.
Flooded with a sense of impending victory, he began to type with two thumbs.
Nancy,
I have some bad news. I wasn’t going to tell you, but it’s not fair to keep you in the dark.
One letter at a time, he deleted the message.
He typed again.
Nancy,
Thanks for your email. Congratulations on the new role. I’m excited for you.
I’m afraid I’ve been keeping something from you. The real reason I asked you to come to Paris is that I need you.
Again, he deleted.
Again, he typed.
Dear Nancy,
The truth is I’m dying.
And again, he deleted it.
Harry stared into the dark water of the pool. It was probably only a foot deep, but it looked bottomless.
Lost in Translation
Dan and Noémie sat at a table outside La Maison Bleue on the Place Franz Liszt. Dan was pretending to scroll the news on his phone. Noémie was sitting opposite, with her legs crossed beneath her. A cup of coffee sat on the table, and a cigarette was slowly turning to ash at its side. She flipped over a page of the spiral notebook in her hands. She had been reading, with no comment whatsoever, for nearly ten minutes. Dan put down the phone and watched her.
Eventually, she closed the notebook and took a sip of coffee.
‘Say something,’ he said. ‘Please.’
‘It is cold.’
‘What?’
She raised the cup to indicate the coffee.
He sighed. He should never have shown her his writing. It was so ridiculously over the top, and she was always so cool. She would judge him to be overly romantic, and she would be right. What he had written was unsophisticated. Maybe, if he could have found the right words, he could have shown her what he felt without appearing gauche, but the right words evaded him like – he made a mental note of the simile – so many beads of mercury. He looked round, signalled the waiter, ordered a fresh cup of coffee for Noémie and their usual, a Caesar salad and the vegetarian plate. Noémie, putting a hand on his arm, amended his order.
